Both prisoners went down instantly, collapsing to the ground with heavy thuds, their momentum halted mid-stride.

  CHAPTER - 3: THE BATTLE OF REVENGE

  Clive and Nayeli froze in their tracks.

  “What just happened?” Nayeli whispered, her voice trembling.

  Clive’s eyes narrowed, scanning the shop in front of them. “If I’m not mistaken… those bullets came from inside that shop.”

  From the shadows beyond, the remaining prisoners stumbled forward in a chaotic, uncontrolled group—their comrades fallen, yet they remained oblivious to the carnage behind them.

  They surged toward the shop, reckless and unaware.

  Then, as they crossed the threshold, gunfire erupted from within. Bullets tore through the air, slicing past walls, ricocheting, striking one after another. It wasn’t just one or two—dozens of shots rained down. Two prisoners managed to dodge, scrambling for cover, but the rest fell, one by one, collapsing to the ground with thuds that echoed through the alley.

  The surviving prisoners paused, startled. And then they advanced again—this time with more caution, yet the intent to hunt remained.

  Nayeli instinctively pressed herself behind Clive, who stood rigid, scanning, trying to make sense of the onslaught.

  A subtle creak reached their ears. A wheelchair rolled forward, its front wheels emerging first, followed by the rest of the chair. Seated atop it was an old man, steady and calm, gripping a gun in his hands. A young man pushed the wheelchair, guiding it forward with deliberate control.

  Together, they emerged fully into view. The old man aimed with precision at the approaching prisoners. Two sharp shots rang out, cutting through the night. Bullets flew, striking the targets with deadly accuracy. The prisoners collapsed instantly, caught mid-stride, chaos finally met with ruthless control.

  The old man lowered his weapon slightly, his piercing gaze now settling on Clive and Nayeli.

  “So… who are you?” he asked, voice steady, eyes unblinking.

  A short while later, inside the juice shop.

  The small space was crowded now. A fourteen-year-old girl stood close to an older woman. Nearby was the old man in the wheelchair, the young man gripping its handles firmly behind him. A slightly younger woman stood with a boy, while Clive and Nayeli remained near the counter, quietly observing everyone.

  The woman studied Clive for a moment before speaking.

  “So… you came here for petrol. For the bus?”

  Clive nodded. “Yes.”

  Her eyes dropped to the bags resting on the floor. “Then why do you have four bags?”

  Clive answered calmly. “One has petrol. Another has water bottles. The third has food. And the fourth… other necessities.”

  The old man in the wheelchair let out a dry chuckle. “I must say, you people came all the way—nearly a kilometer—just to get petrol from this village.”

  Clive smiled faintly, then asked casually, “By the way… you didn’t shoot us. I mean—how did you know we weren’t prisoners?”

  The old man’s gaze shifted briefly to the young man behind the wheelchair.

  “He saw you at the petrol pump,” the old man replied. “He noticed something different. You weren’t moving like prisoners. You were… in control. That’s why I didn’t pull the trigger.”

  Clive nodded. “I see.” Then, after a pause, “So… are you planning to stay here?”

  “What?” the woman reacted sharply.

  “I mean,” Clive clarified, “if I’m not wrong, there’s no one else left in this village… except you.”

  A heavy silence followed. Faces fell, eyes darkened.

  Finally, the old man spoke, his voice steady but tired.

  “We don’t have any other option anymore. The aliens took my wife. They took that child’s family. They took her husband and children.”

  He gestured toward the man behind the wheelchair. “They took his mother. And they took this boy’s family too. Tell me—what else could we do?”

  Clive walked over to the old man, crouching down beside the wheelchair so they were eye to eye.

  “Sir,” he said gently, “we’re heading back to our bus. Why don’t all of you come with us? It’ll be safer. Staying together gives us a better chance.”

  The old man frowned. “But how will we leave? Those prisoners could attack us on the way.”

  “They might attack the village,” Clive replied firmly. “Not the desert.”

  The old man looked around at the others, reading their faces—fear, hope, exhaustion. Then he nodded.

  “Alright,” he said. “We’re ready to move.”

  Clive and Nayeli exchanged relieved smiles.

  Clive chuckled lightly. “By the way, sir… you handle a gun pretty well. I mean—the shots you fired.”

  The old man laughed. “I used to be in the army.”

  “Oh,” Clive said, impressed. He stood up straight and addressed everyone.

  “We’ll be leaving with eight people.” He looked at the young man holding the wheelchair. “You’ll help him along.”

  He continued, voice firm and organized.

  “Everyone else—pick up one bag each. Take whatever you need. We’ll need petrol in two bags. The rest—food, water, supplies.”

  Clive glanced outside. “It’s five o’clock now. We leave the village at six. Use the time wisely. Pack what you must.”

  He paused, letting the words sink in.

  “Then we move.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  A short while later, everyone emerged from the grocery shop, stepping into the pale glow of the early morning.

  They were ready for the bus. The old man leaned slightly on the young man guiding the wheelchair, steady but alert. Each of the others carried a bag—one per person—while Clive bore two himself, one slung in front, the other behind, balancing the weight effortlessly.

  The desert air was crisp, tinged with the soft promise of dawn. The first hints of sunlight were beginning to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in muted shades of gold and rose.

  Slowly, the group moved forward together, shadows stretching long across the sand and dirt. The village lay behind them, quiet and empty, while ahead, the road to safety—and the unknown—awaited.

  Above, the sun began its ascent, casting light on the small caravan of survivors and allies. The day was just starting, and with it, a fragile thread of hope.

  Meanwhile, in Seoul…

  Dae-hyun and Seo-ah walked carefully through the quiet streets, their hands intertwined, each step measured and cautious.

  “Uncle… we’re going this way?” Seo-ah asked softly, glancing up at him.

  “To a place where neither aliens nor prisoners can reach,” Dae-hyun replied, his tone steady but protective.

  Seo-ah nodded. “Then… that building over there would’ve been fine, right?”

  Dae-hyun shook his head. “No. Sounds can carry from that building. It wouldn’t have been safe—or for you. By the way… have you eaten anything?”

  “Yes,” Seo-ah said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I got tired waiting for mom, so I stepped outside. She wasn’t there, but I found a shop and got some snacks.”

  Dae-hyun raised an eyebrow. “And are you hungry now?”

  “No,” she said confidently.

  Dae-hyun chuckled softly. “I have to admit… you’re a strong girl.”

  Seo-ah laughed, a little bashful. “Thank you.”

  He smiled back, warmth in his eyes. In the quiet of the Seoul streets, for a brief moment, the world felt a little lighter.

  Meanwhile, in Shillong, India…

  Azad and Muskan walked quietly through the empty streets, the early morning mist curling around the lamps and damp pavements.

  “So… when it happened, were you alone or with your family?” Azad asked, keeping his voice low.

  “I was outside,” Muskan replied softly, her eyes distant. “I hid inside a store after watching that UFO take everyone… my mother, father, my little brother. After the UFO left, when I reached home… no one was there. They’d taken everyone. And I… I couldn’t do anything.”

  Azad noticed the guilt etched across her face, but he simply walked alongside her, calm and steady, letting her speak.

  “By the way…” Muskan hesitated, then looked up at him. “What about you? Did they take your family too?”

  “No,” Azad said quietly.

  “They didn’t take your family? Then… that means they’re safe,” she whispered, a hint of relief in her voice.

  Azad shook his head slightly. “Actually… I don’t have a family.”

  “What?” Muskan’s voice caught, soft and startled.

  “I was found near the police station,” he explained. “The police… they adopted me.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry,” she murmured, her expression softening.

  Azad smiled faintly. “It’s okay. I don’t hold grudges over these things.”

  In Shillong and Seoul, the world was quiet.

  But in China… there was no calm.

  Only fire.

  He walked alone along the Great Wall, the ancient stones stretching endlessly beneath his feet. In his hand was a metal rod, gripped so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. The way he held it made one thing clear—this was not a normal man anymore.

  His eyes never drifted to the sides.

  He didn’t look down.

  He didn’t look back.

  He looked straight ahead.

  And then—

  footsteps.

  Fast.

  Heavy.

  Getting closer.

  One figure appeared from the front.

  Then another.

  Then more.

  They saw him.

  They wanted him.

  They started running toward him.

  But he didn’t retreat.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  He didn’t feel fear.

  His eyes burned—

  the fire of revenge blazing uncontrollably within them.

  “Aaaaaaah!”

  He screamed and charged forward.

  The first man reached him. In one swift motion, he spun the rod and smashed it straight into the man’s right side. Pain exploded through the body, forcing him backward—but before he could recover, the rod came down again, crushing the right side of his skull.

  Bones cracked.

  The body dropped.

  But the man didn’t stop.

  Another attacker rushed in from behind—

  the rod slammed into his throat.

  “Haaaa!”

  A scream ripped through the air as the rod smashed across another man’s left cheek.

  Then—straight to the head.

  One staggered back. The rod struck the right side of his face, snapping his neck sideways. Another blow followed.

  He collapsed.

  Still, the man didn’t stop.

  He fell upon one of them, kicking relentlessly, boots crashing into ribs, into flesh, into life.

  “You took my children!” he roared, his voice tearing through the silence.

  “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, you bastards!”

  Another man rushed him head?on.

  The rod smashed into the right side of his face.

  “Why did you take my family?!”

  He gasped for breath, chest heaving, rage spilling over.

  “I won’t spare you… I won’t spare you… I’ll kill you!”

  The Great Wall stood silent.

  Ancient.

  Unmoved.

  But upon it, a broken man unleashed everything he had left—

  not fighting to survive,

  but fighting to destroy.

  Kashmir, India…

  A being stood calmly, speaking to a man who appeared to be around sixty years old. Snow-dusted mountains loomed in the distance, silent witnesses to a conversation that carried the weight of the world.

  “Please be patient a little longer,” the being said, its voice steady, almost reassuring.

  “We are still negotiating with the humans who were taken. They are currently held at the North Pole and the South Pole… but they refuse to comply.”

  The old man listened intently, his expression unreadable.

  “If they agree,” the being continued, “then we will have no delay. We will appoint you directly as the ‘Main of Earth.’”

  The wind swept across the valley, cold and sharp, as the implication of those words hung heavily in the air.

  Sonora, Mexico

  7:03 a.m.

  Clive and the others finally reached the bus.

  The woman stopped, surveying it. “So… this is the bus?”

  “Yes,” Nayeli replied.

  The fourteen-year-old girl squinted at the front. “Who’s that standing outside?”

  “Robin,” Clive said.

  “Robin?”

  “He’s the driver.”

  “Oh,” the girl murmured, relief flickering across her face.

  The old man who was in the wheelchair scanned the group, his sharp eyes calculating.

  “Tell me,” he said quietly, “none of the people inside are… compromised, right?”

  “No,” Clive answered. “We were together before all this started.”

  The old man nodded, understanding passing silently.

  Everyone began boarding the bus. Clive grabbed the two petrol bags, preparing for the task ahead. Robin followed him to fill the tank.

  Robin started pouring petrol into the tank.

  “So… what took you so long?” he asked.

  Clive opened a bag. “The prisoners caught us.”

  Robin froze. “Then how did the others—?”

  “The old man helped,” Clive said flatly.

  Robin’s eyes widened. “How?”

  “He shot them,” Clive replied.

  “What?” Robin breathed.

  Clive shrugged. “Army man. Straight shots, no mistakes. Clean kills.”

  Robin glanced toward the bus. “He doesn’t look like one.”

  “He doesn’t,” Clive agreed. “But he’s deadly. He took them all down.”

  Robin let out a low whistle. “So… be careful around him.”

  The petrol hissed into the tank. Clive sat nearby, holding the second bag, watching the horizon.

  “You know,” Clive said quietly, “the first thing they asked when they saw the bus was whether anyone inside was compromised. If we’d made even one mistake…”

  Robin nodded. “They wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot us instead.”

  The bus stood ready in the sand, engines silent, shadows stretching across the desert. Eight people. Two bags of petrol. One dangerous journey ahead. And a young man carrying an old warrior on his back—proof that determination and fire could overcome even the harshest terrain.

  Bhuj, India

  The muscular man walked as he always did—calm, confident, enjoying the quiet of the empty lakeside road under the soft glow of the rising moon. The shadows of trees and lampposts stretched long, and the lake reflected the dim shimmer of the night sky.

  To his right, a park came into view: “Vande Matram.” He glanced at it but didn’t stop. His stride remained steady, purposeful.

  A few steps later, a large gate caught his attention. “What’s this?” he muttered. A sturdy lock held it shut, rust faintly visible under the moonlight. Shrugging, he continued walking, curiosity lingering but unbothered.

  The lake came into view next, wide and serene. In its middle, a small island stood quietly, bathed in silver light. “Wow… right in the middle of the lake. Awesome,” he whispered, momentarily captivated.

  He moved along the path, absorbing the calm night around him. To his left, a brick seating area offered a perfect vantage point for the lake. He stopped briefly, taking in the reflection of moonlight on the water and the gentle ripples breaking the silence.

  “So this is Hamisar Lake… one of the prides of Bhuj. Yeah… this is amazing,” he said aloud, a small smile forming. With a deep breath, he continued forward, walking through the tranquil night, unaware of the stories the darkness might soon reveal.

  He walked, hands casually tucked into his pockets, crossing the central circle of the lakeside path. The road straightened ahead, and the lake unfolded in front of him—silent, still, deceptively calm.

  There was a beauty to it, yes—the moonlight shimmering over the water, the gentle ripple catching the faint glow—but something felt… off. The silence was too complete, too deliberate, as if it were hiding something. The sun had long since set, painting the horizon in fading shades of orange and purple, yet the emptiness weighed heavier than the twilight could soothe.

  People were missing. The laughter, the voices, the life that should have filled the lake’s edge—it was all gone. Only the quiet remained.

  He looked up at the moon. Silent. Watching. Saying nothing.

  The lake mirrored that silence perfectly. Calm.

  Peaceful. Yet beneath that peace lay a cost—a human cost, invisible but undeniable. The stillness of the night carried a warning, a memory, and a promise.

  And in that quiet, he felt it: the lake was waiting, holding its secrets tight, and he had just stepped into its gaze.

  He didn’t stop. There was no destination, no purpose—he was walking simply because he was alone.

  Step after step, he moved along the empty lakeside road, the quiet of the night wrapping around him like a soft, heavy blanket. He crossed the second circle of the path, yet didn’t pause. The road stretched ahead, empty, silent, inviting him to keep moving.

  To his left, a park appeared, dark and still under the faint glow of moonlight. To his right, the lake shimmered, its surface catching the silver light in waves that danced quietly across the water. He walked along the edge, eyes fixed on the lake, letting the calm of the water and the night seep into him.

  Eventually, he turned left, approaching a stone bench placed for lake-viewing. He sat down, feeling the cool weight of the stone beneath him. Above, the moon hung silent and watchful. Around him, the night seemed to pause, holding its breath, and for a moment, he simply watched—the quiet lake, the reflective moon, the serene darkness—alone, yet not lonely.

  From behind, footsteps echoed softly at first, coming from the garden path.

  He noticed them—but didn’t react. He remained seated, calm, as if nothing was happening.

  The steps grew louder, sharper, each one counting up: one… two… two… three… three… four.

  “Come on… keep coming,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but filled with dark anticipation.

  Four… five… five… six… the footsteps multiplied, approaching faster now.

  Suddenly, a rod swung toward his head from behind. In a swift, fluid motion, he tilted his head just in time, dodging the strike effortlessly.

  “Yeah… now it’s playtime,” he said, a cold grin spreading across his face, his eyes alight with controlled fury

  — — — — TO BE CONTINUED — — — —

  THE BEAST WILL BE EAT

  HIS DINNER.

  CHAPTER - 4: ROAR

  Written & Created by

  DARK_Novels_